


Uncomplicated

by TakeMeOut



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeMeOut/pseuds/TakeMeOut
Summary: When the online backlash after the announcement of the thirteenth Doctor becomes too much, Jodie Whittaker turns to an old friend: Peter Capaldi.





	Uncomplicated

The day of the announcement was every bit as brutal as the BBC’s PR department had predicted. Sitting at his laptop, Peter clutched a mug of hot tea like a protective talisman as he scanned through some of the more unpleasant - and probably borderline illegal - Twitter insults levelled at his friend. It was no great surprise to him when a message bleeped on his phone: Jodie. 

 

_ Can I come round? You busy tonight? J  _

 

_ No, not busy,  _ he replied. _ Come whenever you want. _

 

Jodie stumbled through the door when he answered it, exhaustion sketching shadows under her eyes. She shrugged off her hoodie silently and without preamble he said, “What do you need? Tea? Wine? Something stronger?”

 

She met his gaze briefly and unsmilingly. “Whisky. The good stuff.” She paused, looking away. “Thanks, Peter.” Jodie flopped onto the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table while he poured out two generous glasses, eyeing her with concern. He’d never seen her like this before, not even when she’d had the messy break-up with that Irish twat, whatever his name was. 

 

Silently, he passed her a glass and sat down next to her. “It’s not been pretty, has it.” It wasn’t a question. 

 

“No. It hasn’t.” She took a sip of her whisky and breathed out through her nose. “You were right. The internet arseholes have risen to the occasion of a female Doctor with their characteristic charm.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No.” She shook her head. “Not right now, anyway.” She downed the rest of the whisky in one and let her head fall back, directing a humourless grimace at the ceiling. 

 

Peter tipped his head back too, and waited. After a few minutes she turned to him and put one hand flat against his chest, seeming to take a little comfort from the warmth that seeped through his shirt. “You asked what I needed,” she said, pushing slightly against his chest, her eyes glassy. “To be honest, a good fuck would go a long way right now.” 

 

Peter’s mouth twitched and he put on his best faux-innocent look. “Of course. Just what the Doctor ordered.” Jodie narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, that wasn’t even funny the first time. I think I’ve mentioned it.” His grin widened with satisfaction and she pushed him onto his back on the sofa in retaliation, putting one hand around the back of his head and kissing him hard, open-mouthed, as he groaned faintly and involuntarily. 

 

Straddling him, Jodie slid her hand down his front and dragged her fingertips across the warm skin underneath his shirt. “You’ve been making the most of your gym membership. Not too shabby for an old bastard,” she said appreciatively, her mood appearing to lift a little as she ran her hand over his stomach again and began to unbutton his jeans. 

 

Jodie’s raw need was written all over her face as she fucked him hard, gripping the back of the sofa with one hand for support. Peter tried to thrust up to meet her at first, but as her rhythm became faster and more erratic he lay back and let her do what she needed to, watching her through eyes slitted with pleasure. As Jodie started to come she suddenly reached forward and took a fistful of his hair, pulled his head back to expose his throat and bit him hard where neck and shoulder met. The shock of the pain combined with the sensation of her orgasm rippling around him pushed him over the edge with a speed he was surprised by. 

 

Jodie sat up as they both gasped for breath, supporting herself with her hands splayed flat on his chest, face hidden behind her hair. Still inside her, Peter tucked a strand of Jodie’s hair behind her ear and ran one finger across her cheek. “Jodie?”

 

She didn’t answer immediately, but when she shook back her hair and spoke it was with something approaching her normal tone of voice. “Fuck. I really, really needed that.” She looked up and met his gaze more squarely this time, her eyes a little clearer. “Thanks.” She touched the spot where she’d bitten him, a frown appearing as she ran a finger over the fading teeth marks. “Did I hurt you?”

 

He grinned darkly. “Yes. Quite a lot, actually. It was perfect.” For the first time, she smiled back. “You kinky old sod.” She rolled off him and squeezed herself, shoulder to shoulder, by the side of him. “Do you mind if I stay over tonight?” She yawned widely, crooking one arm over her eyes. “My place is surrounded by press and I could do with the company.”

 

“Of course. That’d be nice.” He kissed the top of her head softly and insinuated his arm around her. She raised her head slightly and peeled open one sleepy eye to peer suspiciously at him. “You’re not being soppy with me, are you, Capaldi?” 

 

He widened his eyes in mock outrage. “As if I’d get soppy with you, of all people. Now shut the fuck up and stop spoiling my afterglow.” She nodded her approval and let her eyes close again, pulling his arm a little more firmly around her. 

 

Peter stared at a crack in the ceiling as Jodie’s breathing deepened and slowed, trying to remember the first time their friendship, already unlikely given the age gap, had suddenly and unexpectedly gained these kind of benefits. Perhaps it was the time he’d come out of a long-term relationship and was so lost he didn’t know what to do with himself. She’d knelt between his knees, wiped his tears away with both thumbs and asked if he wanted to go to bed with her, just as friends. That night she’d sat astride him and fucked him slowly, carefully, and when he flipped her over she’d folded her ankles around his back in a way that felt strangely familiar. In the morning, his head was clearer, and his heart didn’t ache quite so badly. 

 

Over the years they’d drifted back to this arrangement time and time again whenever they were both single, fucking away break-ups and betrayals, damning reviews and failed auditions. It was oddly uncomplicated. A relief, or a comfort, or both. 

 

The next morning Peter woke early, returning to bed a short time later with two mugs of strong coffee. He sat on the side of the bed for a moment, watching Jodie sleep with her arms flung up above her head. He noticed the muscle definition on her upper arms and realised he wasn’t the only one who’d been taking refuge in the gym recently, though for entirely different reasons. One knackered outgoing Doctor, and one besieged incoming one. 

 

He put the coffee down and nudged her. “Hey, Whittaker. Wake up. I made coffee.” She groaned and rolled away from him, cursing incoherently. He threaded his fingers through her hair and gently tugged at it; eventually she turned back to him and blearily opened her eyes. He looked questioningly at her, tilting his head slightly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

 

She thought for a moment. “Fucking awful, to be honest.” She paused, and he was relieved to see her eyes crease fractionally with some of the old mischief. “I’m completely traumatised by the online shitbags and need urgent therapy." She yawned briefly. "Preferably of the oral variety.” He nodded slowly with mock solemnity, laughing just a little under his breath as she slid both hands up to the top of his head and pushed it down between her thighs. 

 


End file.
